


Hesitation Marks

by MasterD1mwitt



Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: Angst, Body Dysphoria, Childhood Trauma, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, M/M, Trans Male Character, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:14:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27938712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MasterD1mwitt/pseuds/MasterD1mwitt
Summary: Steven didn't believe in ghosts before this job, considered himself a logical, realistic man. But no amounts of logic could explain the machine trying to stalk him, or the phantoms lurking in the corners of his vision. He was just imagining things, right? There's no coming back from death. AU where Springtrap is not William Afton.
Relationships: Night Guard (Five Nights at Freddy's 3)/Springtrap (Five Nights at Freddy's), Springtrap (Five Nights at Freddy's)/Original Character(s), Springtrap (Five Nights at Freddy's)/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 36





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this story is based off of a theory I had about Springtrap when FNAF3 first came out when I was a teen, and I wanted to do something with it when I got back into the series recently. It disregards most of the canon from FNAF5 and 6, but otherwise follows the timeline in the games. I wanted to go against the popular theory at the time that Springtrap was purple guy (which is now canon, oops), so I hope you guys enjoy my alternate interpretation of events.

_ "We found one, a real one!" _

Steven paused his rummaging through his bag at that line to listen closely. Usually at the start of his shift he only paid half attention to his boss on the answering machine, more invested in getting himself situated for a long night. Despite being paid to be a nightguard at this "upcoming haunted house" Fazbear's Fright, there was little to actually watch on the security cameras, Steven spending most of his time rebooting the building's failing systems or playing on his phone. But, lo and behold, as he flipped through the cameras while listening to the phone message, Steven spotted  _ it _ . A rusted, faded animatronic just as decrepit as it's surroundings sat slumped over in one of the back rooms, looking rather pitiful, really. It was beyond him what the owners planned on doing with the thing, they would be lucky if it ever walked again.

Suddenly a different voice began speaking, and Steven had to do a double take. Ah, the training videos. As the speaker went through all the corporate mumbo jumbo to distance themselves from any accountability, Steven whipped out his cell phone and began perusing his Twitter feed, setting aside his video console for now. Very rarely did he have to deal with local teens coming in, and even then they were easily scared off; being an adult -albeit a very young one- made him an authority figure, one which they feared could get them in trouble with the police. 

An hour or so passed like that, and, actually giving somewhat of a shit about his job, Steven checked all of the cameras for good measure. Still no intruders, although when he checked on the room the animatronic was in, he instead had a close up of the robot's face, one of the eyes staring into the camera. Steven jumped back in his seat, if only because he assumed that the machine was powered off for maintenance. Oh well, he thought, as the thing ambled away, it probably wouldn't make it very far. Although all of its limbs were intact, many parts of the endoskeleton underneath the suit were exposed, particularly the joints, which creaked after decades of disuse.

_ Oh yeah, that's one of those springlock suits,  _ Steven recalled the training tape that played earlier.  _ It becomes a regular animatronic when not occupied and can walk around. Springtrap, more like it,  _ he thought, noticing through the grainy image frayed wires poking out of various holes in the suit. Shrugging, he then turned away from the cameras and connected a speaker to his phone via bluetooth, scrolling through his playlists on Spotify before picking one. Oh, the wonders of modern technology. It completely distracted him from catching the aforementioned robot slowly shuffling out of it's room; no, adjusting the volume on his portable speaker so that he could blast his music was far more important than any rogue AI on free roam mode.

Springtrap first poked his head out into the hallway, taking in his new location. No longer was he in the safe room at the diner; moving to this new place must have awoken him. It was just as decrepit as the restaurant, though, and certainly dressed up to mimic it. But as he wandered down the corridors, he realized it was devoid of life, a macabre facsimile of the familiar, the walls decorated with the hollow parts of other animatronics. Unidentifiable rage filled him at their sight; his cognition was still groggy from waking up. How long had he even been asleep? Continuing to explore his environment, he stopped in his tracks and twitched his ears when he heard signs of another. Heavy, electronic music he recognized from his youth as a human was playing on the other side of the building, drawing him in. The closer he got, the more he felt the base in his chest, and the more he woke up.

Peering into the room that was the source of the noise, Springtrap noticed a human reclining in a rolling chair, most likely male from the shape of its body. It was fiddling with something similar to a remote in its hands, then rolled over to the camera screen on its desk, only to shout an expletive and scroll through all the cameras when it couldn't locate something. Him, most likely, Springtrap surmised as he felt the anger bubble up inside him again. This human, whoever it was, was connected to his disturbed rest. Intending to sneak up behind the other, his left foot unfortunately creaked as he lifted it, giving away his position.

Steven swiveled around in his chair, only to shout and nearly fall over as the animatronic scared him. "What are you doing here?" He asked as if Springtrap could reply; instead it stared at him with dead, silvery eyes. "Do you uh, need help getting back to your place?" He awkwardly added, figuring that the machine was programmed to return to its resting spot at dawn, but had gotten lost. Still Springtrap did nothing.

Then he shuffled so that the rest of him was in the doorway, blocking it, Steven noticed with dawning horror. Being a post millennial, he had of course grown up on the rumors of defunct business Freddy Fazbear having animatronics that hunted people at night, but he had thought they were just that, falsehoods spread by people who had nothing better to do. Akin to the urban legends Slenderman and Jeff the Killer. Quickly scrambling to turn off his music, Steven cleared his throat and said more authoritatively, "What do you need?"

With surprising speed Springtrap stepped towards him, and Steven's body went rigid as his survival instincts kicked in. He had no way of defending himself, and not enough space to make a run for it, his best bet would be to play dead. As the machine drew closer, the stomach churning stench of mildew and rust grew stronger, and he closed his eyes as he braced himself as Springtrap reach for him-

And then, Springtrap instead grabbed his phone with a large, clumsy hand, and yanked it out of his grip to inspect it. "H-hey, what are you doing?" Steven exclaimed with a shaky voice, still not daring to draw in deep, proper breaths. "That phone cost me one paycheck!" But if Springtrap could respond to him, the machine did not bother, not acknowledging the irate night guard as he attempted to identify the foreign object. It didn't look like any phone from his time as a human; in the 90's, phones still connected to the wall and only had a speaker and receiver.

Distracted now by the touch screen, Springtrap disregarded his instincts telling him to pursue the human as he instead wandered off with the "phone" in hand. It was six in the morning, and his programming was telling him that it was time to go back into hibernation, and so he went to return to the room he woke up in, ignoring the continued yelling of Steven. The night guard knew better than to try to retrieve his cellphone, not after how the animatronic looked at him. Like he would have been prey, had the machine not been distracted last minute by a novelty.

Honestly, Steven mused as he checked the clock on the computer before packing his things, getting out of the office with his life was more important than reclaiming anything so trivial. And as he lay in bed that morning, staring at the ceiling, he tried to make sense of the events of that night, and not see those dead eyes in the shadows of his room.


	2. Chapter 2

Waking up the next night without the aid of his phone's alarm let him know that his encounter with the animatronic had indeed occurred, and reluctantly Steven got dressed in his uniform and mentally prepared himself for his shift. The machine didn't want to kill him, he reassured himself, it was just an AI, a robot incapable of malicious intent, and he had no reason to fear it. No matter how many times he repeated that to himself in the car on the drive to work, though, Steven still felt dread bubbling up in the pit of his stomach. To steel his nerves, he lit a quick cigarette, then punched into work once he smoked it down to the butt.

Quickly he tossed his coat over the back of his chair and hit the button on the answering machine to play any messages as he checked the camera feed. Springtrap had yet to wake up, but he knew that it wouldn't take long for the animatronic to do so. After the training video ended, Steven mused to himself that he would have to tell his boss about the...incident with his phone in order to get it back. No way in Hell was he going to try to retrieve it himself.

Springtrap had spent all afternoon while alone attempting to investigate the cellphone, figure out how to use it. His new, metallic digits were far too clunky to be of proper use and barely registered on the touch screen, but he was able to eventually explore its contents. Mostly it was full of useless information, but eventually he found the current date.

He had been dead for thirty years.

Had it really been that long? It hadn't felt like it, but then again, he had had no consciousness to process the passage of time during his slumber. His mind still felt foggy, and he felt this aggression, this...rage boiling in his subconscious, an urge to punish the ones who had disturbed him. In the process they had disturbed, angered even, more than just his spirit, he could feel  _ their _ tortured souls here with him, just out of his reach. And so, when his internal clock told him it was after midnight, Springtrap arose and searched the halls of his purgatory for them, instead only hearing their snide laughter.

Cursing to himself when he found Springtrap wandering on camera, Steven went onto his console and noticed an option to play audio cues to distract the machine. At first he was puzzled when it played samples of children's voices, but figured something in the animatronic's AI was drawn to it, having to work around kids and all. But after a few hours of making Springtrap chase the artificial ploy, he lost track of it when he had to reboot the system after several errors. "Come on, motherfucker," Steven grumbled, quickly switching between cameras, "where did you go?"

The sound of something heavy crawling in the vents was his answer, and checking on the feed from one of them was his confirmation. Damn animatronic was dragging it's huge body through the vents, which all lead to his office. Quickly Steven began locking the ducts, hoping to stop Springtrap in his path, and for a moment all went quiet and he held his breath. His traitorous heart pounded in his chest, almost screaming in the silence, and he hoped with every fiber of his being that the animatronic did not have heightened hearing. Instead, he prayed to whatever powers that may be to save his sorry ass and compel the persistent springlock suit hunting him to appear on the cameras again.

But instead the shuffling in the vent grew louder, and with a sinking heart Steven heard the machine clamoring closer. Frantically he attempted to shut the last vent, but he was too late, Springtrap's eyes and teeth glowed in the darkness of the vent in his office, then the rest of it came into view as its massive hands thrust the rest of its body forward. "Shit, shit, shit!" Steven exclaimed, wheeling backwards in his chair as the machine towered over him as it strode up. It was easily over six feet tall, far taller than him even if he were not sitting, and almost twice as wide as him. Each of Springtrap's slow moving limbs were a mess of shredded costume, wires, and endoskeleton that appeared to take great effort to ambulate with, but again in those eyes, silvery like a dead fish, was the determination the machine was using to overcome its handicap and corner Steven.

He had backed up as far as his chair would allow him to go, backed up against his desk, but Springtrap continued to approach him until the machine was standing on top of him, boxing him in place with thick, metal arms. Desperately Steven pressed his hands into the solid chest before him to keep Springtrap from crushing him, but it regarded him with little care in its eyes as it turned its head to face him. "Don't!" Steven half begged, half ordered as the animatronic opened its maw, as if to bite him, but instead it coughed up his phone into his lap.

Steven swore there was a glint of amusement in those eyes.

"Gross," he gagged, hesitantly picking up his cellphone, covered in grime, then added when he noticed that Springtrap was carefully watching him, "thanks for uh, returning it, buddy." The animatronic tilted its head to the side while listening to him, reminding him of a grotesque parody of a dog. "You don't want to kill me, right?" Steven dared to ask, keeping his other hand in place on Springtrap's chest just in case.

The thing was, Springtrap wasn't entirely sure of that, either. There was a human side of him slowly waking up, trying to make sense of his reality, but then there was something else. Something darker, more violent, that was waking up faster.  _ This is all your fault. _ His fingers twitched on the wooden desk. Suddenly his hand wrapped itself around the nightguard's throat, eliciting the most intoxicating gurgling noise as he lifted them. Their hands clawed around his exposed metal digits in vain, quick breaths coming out in a hiss and legs kicking at thin air. Emotionlessly he met the human's panicked gaze as his grip tightened.

_ They're all dead because of you. _

Springtrap's fingers now trembled, and Steven swore he could hear a raspy, labored noise emanate from the animatronic, as if it was attempting to speak. But no words ever came, just Springtrap's grip loosening to drop him carelessly on the floor as six o'clock came. Almost soberly it sauntered off to go into hibernation mode, and Steven winced as he held his side and gasped for air. Once he was certain the animatronic was gone, he achingly heaved himself up on his feet and lit another cigarette, poor ventilation be damned as he needed that sweet rush of nicotine to soothe his nerves. Coughing as he exhaled, Steven then tossed on his jacket and all but bolted out of the exit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this far, feel free to leave a kudos or a comment if you liked it! I enjoy getting feedback on my stories and welcome any questions, suggestions, or criticism. :)


	3. Chapter 3

In his bathroom mirror, Steven surveyed his shirtless reflection for the worst of the damage. Dark bruises were blossoming on tan skin along the side he fell on as well as his neck, tender, swollen reminders of the springlock animatronic's hesitation. He didn't know how, but the thing had an intent beyond its AI, that it itself was struggling with. He hoped that meant Springtrap wouldn't harm him, but Steven had the sneaking suspicion that it would only become more aggressive.

Assessing himself once more in the mirror, he figured it would do well to trim the forming stubble he had, as it was becoming unruly; after that, he continued to tame his wild, unnaturally dyed hair, before getting dressed in his work uniform and making a bowl of oatmeal to eat as the sun set. That was his normal routine before work, as most people his age were too busy with college or building a family to go out on a whim; scrolling through Facebook, and a good majority of his former classmates were already getting married and having babies. "Their babies are ugly, anyway," Steven would mutter to himself, but it did little to smother the loneliness he felt as a twenty-three year old without a significant other.

The only reason why he took this dead end job was because he didn't want to saddle himself with debt just to get a degree and wind up in the same situation, and it paid enough to support his current lifestyle as a bachelor in a shitty little shoebox apartment. Perhaps he could find himself a sugar daddy if he ever got bored of living in poverty, but until then he'd drag himself back to Fazbear's Fright and subject himself to the mental torment that was distracting an awry AI. It wasn't that hard, once he found a routine, but it was still unnerving watching Springtrap wander the halls.

For one, Steven would occasionally catch it transfixed in front of one of the busted parts of other animatronics, and briefly he would wonder if it filled the machine with sorrow to see its brethren broken beyond repair. Then he would chastise himself for humanizing something so inhuman, and yet still Springtrap would regard the "decorations" for a few moments before trudging off. Despite being capable of short bursts of speed, most of the time Steven observed the animatronic moving with a slight limp, and he almost felt pity for it. Once it served its purpose, Springtrap had been left for dead, discarded and forgotten. Every once in a while Steven would catch it staring at him through the window like it would at the other animatronics, but he did his best not to freak out, as Springtrap would eventually wander off once discovered.

It was still creepy being stalked by the machine, but more creepy were the...glitches he was beginning to notice on the cameras. While his boss had mentioned that the aged ventilation system could cause hallucinations, Steven hadn't put much stock into it until he noticed some of the salvaged animatronics acting up on screen. It would startle him every time he noticed them, usually the apparitions would block the whole screen until disappearing to who knows where, requiring him to reboot all systems in increasing frequency so he could keep his cameras focused on Springtrap.

That night though, the ventilation was being particularly fucky, and with a groan Steven tried to fix it on his console as the alarms went off for the umpteenth time. The constant deprivation of oxygen was taxing on him, though, and even as he desperately tried to press buttons, his vision grew hazy as he kept rebooting the system as error messages kept popping up. This wasn't how he wanted to die, he lamented, panicking, alone at work choking on air, a malevolent machine watching him struggle against the inevitable. Briefly he thought he spotted Springtrap in the corner of his vision, but he blacked out before he could even react.

Lurking in the doorframe, Springtrap took his chance to strike before halting and realizing the situation. The night guard was slumped over on his desk, still reaching towards the reboot ventilation button as the screen flashed furiously. This simply wouldn't do, it was no fun if he couldn't get a reaction out of the human. Curiously Springtrap creeped closer, using this opportunity to better size up the male. He could definitely tell it was such now from the shape of its jawline and the way its clothes clung to its body, how wide shoulders led into barely toned arms. Flipping the human over, he realized it was wearing an exact replica of the restaurant's uniform.

He used to be a nightguard, once. Perhaps he should have felt some kinship with the human, given his new recollection. And perhaps he did, deep down, just enough to hold back from killing it at the moment. Suddenly Springtrap was no longer a predator, now memories of being on the other end, being pursued by the very animatronics whose empty husks he now saw in every corner, played in his mind. In a brief moment of clarity, the human in him gained control, and he tapped on the console to finish rebooting the ventilation system.

A few moments passed, and the noise of error messages was replaced by the fans in the ducts whirling back to life. After a few more, and Steven stirred awake, only to jolt and squeak as he realized Springtrap was leaning right on top of him. Not having much room to move with the metal abdomen pressing down on his back, Steven glanced up at the machine as it met his gaze with ambivalent, half lidded eyes. Much to his relief, Springtrap wordlessly disentangled from him and retreated a few steps, but did not take its sights off him.

"You...saved me?" He wondered out loud; Springtrap's intact ear twitched as it listened. "Thanks...Spring Bonnie." It stared at him dumbly after he used the name, so Steven explained, "That's the name of your character, right? You're one of those springlock suits of Bonnie." As he finished, he realized how silly he must have seemed, trying to reason with a crusty robot with a dated AI. And yet Springtrap looked down at itself as if trying to take in its appearance for the first time, and once again the strangled, rasping noise could be heard. But soon the clock struck six, cutting the surreal encounter short.

Steven nearly forgot all about the one sided conversation he'd had, until he walked into his office the next night and saw a message scratched into the window.

_ I AM MIKE _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter was shorter than the last ones, it's short and sweet and I didn't want to fluff it up with unnecessary details. I hope you enjoyed it, and I'll be sure to update sooner so you're not left hanging on that ending 😁


	4. Chapter 4

They fell into the same routine that night, Steven luring away the lumbering machine with audio cues of children's laughter, Springtrap following the false lead. But after a while the animatronic seemed to realize the ruse, ignoring the voices and instead heading straight towards the night guard's office. The hair on Steven's arms raised as he watched it on the camera, but refused to panic, not even when Springtrap stared at him from the doorway, instead staring right back.

"Mike," he said as it stepped forward, which seemed to disarm it. Slowly standing up from his seat, Steven approached the animatronic curiously, sizing it up. "You're good," he asked, daring to creep closer, "right, Mike?" The repeated use of the name made Springtrap tip its head to the side and gaze at him with bright, inquisitive eyes. Reaching out to pat the other's chest, Steven sighed in relief when it did not lunge at him like before. Perhaps he was making progress. "Yeah, that's a good boy." He swore that the cigarettes he smoked contained pure nicotine, but the way he was interacting with the animatronic, he would have thought they were laced, making him act this way. It would have been simpler that way, to pretend it wasn't out of his own desire that he was now absentmindedly petting the suit, smooth in texture as all the faux fur had long since decayed away. Suddenly bashful, he pulled away and scratched his neck, mumbling, "Err...my name is Steven."

Attention focused on something over his shoulder, Springtrap suddenly moved to push past the human to wander over to the desk and inspect the guard's set up. "Umm, what are you doing?" Steven asked, heart palpitating the longer the machine was around him. He got his answer in the form of Springtrap picking up his cellphone, and with a groan he stormed over and snatched it back. "Nuh uh, not this again!" Twitching its ears, Springrap hissed as Steven sat down, but he ignored it in favor of scrolling through his Twitter feed. From behind him, a huge, mold colored paw roughly tapped on the screen, interrupting him and nearly slapping his phone out of his hand in the process. "Hey, settle down!" Steven exclaimed a bit harshly; composing himself, he forced out in a softer tone to not incur the wrath of the machine, "Here, do you want me to show you what's on my phone?" Glancing over his shoulder, to his surprise Springtrap nodded.

"It's uh, you know, a cell phone," he explained lamely. "It's like a tiny computer." Springtrap pointed at his security monitor, and Steven said, "Yep! Just like that. It connects to the internet...but you probably don't know what that is, do you?" He trailed off, the last part more for himself; Springtrap could vaguely remember the state of the world wide web from his last years in the 90's, but back then, it was a sluggish, limited means of communication. Thus it amazed him to witness the human scroll through all sorts of applications and websites with ease and explain what they did on each one. There was the current site they were on, called "Twitter", that the human said they mostly used to look at "memes", humorous pictures often with captions; a "Youtube" where people uploaded videos about various topics and even music from all over the world, to name just a few.

"Facebook is where you post pictures of yourself and try to flex on other people about how great your life is," Steven muttered, as he paused on a post of one of his friends hugging their boyfriend, sighing dejectedly.

Rasping heavily, Springtrap managed to speak, "Stevie…"

Oh Hell no. Steven did not do nicknames, especially from rotting animatronics with glitchy AI. "No," he corrected sharply, too annoyed to be freaked out by the machine's new ability to speak, "I'm Steven. Just Steven."

"Stevie," Springtrap insisted in his scratchy voice, wrapping his arms around Steven's sitting form in a bastardized attempt of copying the image on the phone's screen. "Am I your friend, Stevie?"

Steven had to wince, not from the animatronic's words, but its actions, its arms squeezing the sore bruises -that it itself had caused- on his side. Seeing their reflections in the screen, how close Springtrap's giant, blocky teeth were to his face, and he quickly humored the machine, replying, "Yes, of course, Mike. You're my friend now." Now that it wasn't trying to murder him, apparently; Steven would kiss its ass as long as it kept him from being just another in a long line of bite victims of Freddy Fazbear animatronics.

Squeezing the human tighter, Springtrap gleefully replied, "And you're my friend, Stevie." Noticing the time on the phone's analog clock, he then nuzzled against the night guard and released a rattling breath as the end of their shift drew closer by the second. The more he was awake, the more he could remember, but he was beginning to realize there were things he did not wish to remember, mistakes he had made that caused irreparable tragedy, caused his current state. Trapped inside a suit, just like they were. In the lucid dream state that was Springtrap's hibernation mode, he was paralyzed as the ghosts of the others tormented him, made him remember their pain. No, he did not wish to return to that state.

"Don't leave me, Stevie."

The alarm on Steven's phone went off as the clock struck six. He patted a metal cheek apologetically. "I'll come back, Mike."


	5. Chapter 5

He had been having nightmares, ever since he began working at Fazbear's Fright a few weeks ago. At first, it had merely been dark, vague apparitions, harbingers of unease, leaving him with nothing but wisps of apprehension when he awoke. Over the coming days, however, they became more distinct, more potent, as if gaining more presence in his unconscious mind. Shadowy forms similar to the hallucinations he saw at work chasing him down corridors, hunting him when he tried to hide, unrelenting until his blaring alarm roused him. When Steven slept after his shift hanging out with Springtrap -Mike now? He was confused as to what to call the machine anymore- he had a completely different kind of dream, a vision of sorts. The original Freddy characters being led to a back room, one by one, until a dark figure rushed up to them to tear them apart, screaming in the most inhuman way that caused Steven to jolt upright in bed, panting heavily.

At least he didn't have any roommates to worry about disturbing, he mused as he vaulted to his feet. The unfortunate downside was that his apartment was far too quiet, allowing his mind to dwell on the figure's dark, contorted face; Steven had a hunch that it would haunt him if he didn't get out of the house. His solution was to get dressed early and pick up Starbucks on his way to work, savoring the aroma of his overpriced sandwich and iced latte as they sat in his lap. Absentmindedly he slurped his coffee as he clocked in, then spat out his drink when he got to his office. "What are you doing in here?"

Springtrap looked up from his rummaging in Steven's desk to reply lamely, "Waiting for you."

Sighing, the night guard cautiously approached the animatronic and set his belongings down one by one, Springtrap silently watching each item be placed on the smooth woodgrain. The thick smell of coffee curled up in his nostrils, conjuring up a faint memory of cold mornings spent watching the sun rise while warming fleshy human hands around his mug. Small details like these were coming back to him faster and stronger, painting more of a picture for Springtrap what his human life had been like, but he still could not recall memories in full, who he spent those mornings with, what events proceeded after. Most of what he could remember was the intense pain and trauma he and the others had been through.

When Steven began fiddling with an object reminiscent of a tiny boombox, Springtrap pointed at it and asked, "What's that?"

"It's a speaker," the night guard said nonchalantly, playing on his phone. Suddenly electronic music began blasting from the speaker, making Springtrap jump.

"How is the music playing?" The machine questioned suspiciously, inspecting the speaker, then exclaiming, "Stevie! It's not plugged in!"

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Steven turned to address the distressed animatronic and explained, "It doesn't need any, it runs on batteries that you charge. And the music…" he gestured vaguely with his hands as he tried to come up with a way to explain Bluetooth to a boomer robot, "it's on my phone, which is talking to the speaker without wires. I can control it, see?" He then demonstrated by selecting a new playlist on Spotify, listening to the sudden shift to 90's alternative.

Placated by the human's answer, and the rhythm of the song that was playing, Springtrap leaned up against the office window and rested his pale eyes, losing himself in the absence of thought. The most blissful state he could achieve, really; the phantoms of the other animatronics were not as pleasant company as his night guard. For the most part they avoided him, allowing him reprieve, but he did not know which was better, when they tormented him, or when they ignored his very existence. They did not wish to speak to him, to hear his profuse apologies and excuses for his actions, how he swore it wasn't his fault; he was dead to them.

And they were dead because of him.

The night guard was different. He did not seem to hate Springtrap like the phantoms did, although he did have reason to. As his conscience came back to him, Springtrap winced at the sight of indigo welts in the shape of his hand wrapped around the human's delicate neck. So easily he could have ended the man's life; had he squeezed any tighter he was certain they wouldn't be sharing this moment together at all.

"Stevie," Springtrap spoke cautiously, carefully analyzing the other, "do you like me?"

"Of course," Steven replied, confused as to why the machine would be programmed to feel self conscious. "You're my friend, remember?"

Soberly Springtrap approached the human, who held his breath in anticipation of the silent animatronic's next move. With as much tenderness as he could muster with his clumsy metal hand, Springtrap traced the bruises and muttered, "Friends don't hurt friends."

"It's okay, Spring -er, Mike," Steven said in a tiny voice, heart pounding and cheeks burning up. The animatronic was leaning down to be in his face and stroking his sensitive skin almost sensually...was he reading too much into this? Springtrap's intense, silver eyes were boring into his own wide, dark ones, and this close he could hear the crackle of the robot's aged voice box as it remained ready to speak. This was easily the most intimacy Steven had had in at least a year, and he tried desperately to blame that for his reaction to the physical contact. Clearing his throat, Steven averted his gaze and pressed a hand against Springtrap's chest to keep him from pressing even closer, and asked to change the subject, "Um, why is your name Mike?"

Recoiling from the night guard, Springtrap said casually, "That was my human name." And the more he heard it, the more the human inside him woke up.

"What do you mean?"

Instead of answering, Springtrap twitched his good ear and focused on the speaker. "You like this kind of music, Stevie?" He wondered, recognizing a song. Many years ago, he had heard it performed live at one of the first concerts he had ever attended. He had gone with new friends, ones he made to forget the old ones, but he could never forget, no matter who he met or what he did to his body, he was forever haunted.

"Yeah, a little bit," Steven replied, rolling around absentmindedly in his chair. "I put on this playlist when I'm in the mood for older music."

Cocking his head, Springtrap became somewhat indignant. "Older? This isn't something your grandparents would listen to, Stevie."

Maybe his dad, Steven thought to himself, but held his tongue as he snorted in amusement. "I forget," he giggled, "you're from the 90's, this is what was cool for you. I bet they probably made you act all edgy and shit, too." If he remembered correctly, the Bonnie animatronic did have an electric guitar. The "I'm not a kid anymore, I'm fourteen!" energy was huge with that one. His laughter only grew as Springtrap continued to act unamused, folding his arms with a huff. With a sigh, he then realized how naturally he had been conversing with the animatronic, as if it were a person; he harkened back to Springtrap's earlier comment, but still did not know how to make sense of it. "Hey, you've been really chatty tonight," Steven noted as he opened his sandwich and checked the clock; he was halfway through his shift.

Shrugging, Springtrap regarded him neutrally and said, "I feel more awake. The others do, too."

"The others..?" Steven asked, furrowing his brows, but the machine did not respond, instead staring at something over his shoulder. Following its gaze, he then whirled around, only to jump in his seat as he saw the busted Foxy animatronic lingering in the doorway. Rusted beyond repair and missing huge chunks of its suit, the thing roared the moment Steven made eye contact and rushed at him, causing him to swear and roll backwards. But just as he winced his eyes shut, the broken Foxy disappeared, and, hearing a sad exhale from above, Steven realised he had backed up into Springtrap.

"Their spirits were not happy to be disturbed," he explained, resting his hands on Steven's shoulders to calm the human, who softened under his touch.

"I've been seeing them for a few days now," Steven grumbled, rubbing his eyes in disbelief. This job was becoming a lot more than what he bargained for. "I thought they were just because of the ventilation."

"They are not happy I'm here," Springtrap muttered. "They are not my friends like you are, Stevie. Not anymore."

"How come?"

"I hurt them worse."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The phantom animatronics are the actual spirits of the missing children; as shown in the bad ending of FNAF3, just taking the animatronics apart didn't put their souls to rest, only freed them. The longer Springtrap is awake, the more he can remember who he is inside the suit. But just because his cognitive capabilities are improving, doesn't mean Steven can relax just yet...
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter, I'm going to do a double upload today!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: self harm

What was that cryptic sentence supposed to mean? How could Springtrap possibly have pissed off the other animatronics to the point their broken husks were haunting Fazbear's Fright? They were all robots, they weren't supposed to have feelings or grudges. And how could have Springtrap harmed them in a way that was worse than the marks he had to cover up every day before he went out?

People would send him horrified looks if they noticed the darkening lesions poking out of his shirt collar, assuming he had been brutally violated or abused. It didn't help that Steven's Baja Blast blue hair was constantly disheveled, a testament to the stress caused by the machine he watched and the nightmares caused by it. Once, a little old lady stopped him at the grocery store and told him in a hushed tone, "If he ever lays a hand on you again, you call the police." All Steven could do in response was dumbly nod, and wonder if 911 would take him seriously if he claimed that a murderous animatronic was stalking him.

Not that Springtrap had been acting particularly violent the past few nights, but Steven did not particularly trust the springlock suit, not just on account of its own words. No, its aged, glitchy AI was gonna crap out sooner or later, and Steven just hoped he wouldn't be within arm's length of the thing when the time came. Surprisingly, when he entered the office Springtrap was not there to give him another heart attack; checking the cameras after settling in, and he could not find it at all. Figuring the machine was hiding in one of his blindspots, Steven opened a packet of crackers and began eating as he waited for several systems to reboot. Really, his boss should have hired a maintenance worker to do this instead of him, Steven bitterly mused as he logged onto Twitter, but then, why pay two people when they could just keep throwing work onto his plate. They didn't pay him enough for this shit.

After maybe an hour or so, Steven could hear a dull, repeated thudding sound from down the halls, and so, for good measure, he decided to check the cameras, lest some poor teenagers had foolishly decided to break in. Instead to his horror he discovered Springtrap banging its face into a wall; guess that time for it to crap out was now. When it didn't stop, Steven got up with a groan, figuring he should stop the animatronic before it caused any damage to itself or the building, figuring his boss would be pissed and take the cost of repairs out of his paycheck.

The first step out of his office sent terror up his spine to his heart, clutching it as it hammered against his ribcage; the next few were easier. Using the flashlight on his phone to light his way, Steven wandered the dark corridors, following the sound of the pounding until he was close enough to hear Springtrap speaking. Well, mostly screaming that was impossible to decipher, thank God, but Steven could make out the occasional string of words.

_ I'M SORRY _

_ IT WASN'T MY FAULT _

_ FORGIVE ME _

By now Steven's walk was a run, and, finding Springtrap yanking on its head and yelling, "Let me out!" Steven rushed over to hold the machine still.

"Hey, hey! I've got you," he shouted, placing his hands atop Springtrap's much larger ones. "Mike, it's okay! I'm here now, buddy. I'm here." Once he could tell that Springtrap was calming down, he asked, "What's wrong, Mike?"

It had simply been too much to handle that night. All the scrapped animatronics, all the posters and paraphernalia from Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria, all the youthful smiling faces who hadn't yet had their innocence stolen. Garlands and drawings decorated the ceilings and walls of his purgatory, made by children, children like him, once. He remembered now, everything about that fateful day, the day he was supposed to die. The stuffy air in the back room, the rough hands of his captor on him, the cries of the others as he broke free, begging him to get help.

It was too much.

"Stevie," Springtrap cried hoarsely, "I did something bad. Very bad."

"I know, I know," Steven murmured soothingly, "you can tell me all about it later. Right now let's get you cleaned up, okay, Mike?" At first he felt silly, but after a few heartbeats Springtrap nodded and stood up to full height, towering over the human. Awkwardly Steven glanced around, then took the machine's hand and led it back to his office. "I should have some cleaning supplies in my desk," he explained as they walked down the hall, slowly so that the silent suit could keep up in his dazed state. Once in his office, he left Springtrap to linger in the middle of the room as he searched through his desk and supply closet for anything he could use. Disinfectant spray, several rolls of paper towels, and a garbage bag seemed sufficient enough, and so Steven quickly got to work, putting on some music quietly for background noise as he sprayed down the animatronic.

Other than turning his head down to watch the night guard's actions, Springtrap did not respond, zoning out as Steven scrubbed the plates of his suit clean. Several layers of muck and stains were lifted with great effort, and the more parts of the body he cleaned, the better it smelled. After starting on the machine's chest and making decent progress, Steven worked outwards, wiping down its stomach and sides, then its back and each arm. When he handled Springtrap's hands, the animatronic interlocked their fingers and stared at him with glowing, melancholy eyes. "You feel better?" Steven asked, and it nodded. After a moment's pause, he dared to add, "Do you want to talk about what happened?"

For a few minutes, Springtrap was quiet, and Steven thought that he would get no answer. But then, it rasped, "I should have ended up like them sooner. My friends, the phantoms you see. They hate that I did not suffer with them."

When Springtrap did not elaborate, Steven moved on to cleaning the animatronic's legs, and pressed, "What happened to your friends?"

"They died," it replied simply. "A bad man hurt them when we were playing, long ago. Put them into the suits they haunt. Their bodies were never found, so they never went to rest."

"Wait, are you saying there were people stuffed inside the animatronics?" Steven gagged at the thought of rotting corpses shambling around inside of kids' mascots.

"The missing children from the 80's. The four who disappeared in one day, to be exact. Those were my best friends." No matter how terrible of a day he'd had, Springtrap could always count on them to cheer him up; they loved the Freddy characters just as much as he had, and were just as excited to meet them on that special day. Becoming them, however, destroyed any semblance of humanity they once had, their consciences decaying to nothing just like their flesh had.

Rendered speechless, all Steven could muster was a weak, "I'm sorry." Beckoning for the animatronic to lean down, he held its once yellow cheeks carefully in his tan hands, and dutifully scrubbed its face as clean as humanly possible after thirty years of neglect. Thankfully, the machine's recent moment of neurosis hadn't added any new damage on top of that, the scuff marks easily coming off. "You're looking a lot better now," he said softly, feeling accomplished that his hours of hard work was almost over. "Do you feel better, Mike?"

Closed eyes fluttered open halfway to meet his gaze, and he was nearly blinded by their brilliance. Springtrap had seemed to melt in his touch, slipping back into the brutally blissful state of oblivion, the revelation lost in the fog of forgetfulness. "Thank you, Stevie," it murmured, voice saturated with genuine gratitude.

Despite himself, Steven pulled Springtrap into a tight hug, and reassured him, "Any time, buddy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I recognize the irony now of replacing William with one of his victims, but oh well. Springtrap will remember more about that day when it is time, but for now he needs rest. It gets easier for him to remember his human life, but that only means he will struggle more with what happened to him. Luckily Steven is a nice guy and is more than happy to start simping for him-I mean helping him out


	7. Chapter 7

That morning, Steven lay awake in bed as weak, but growing sunlight filtered into his room underneath closed blinds, too deep in thought to fall asleep. Somehow he had befriended a self aware animatronic that blamed itself for the death of children it knew. At least, that was the most logical conclusion he drew, in a situation that was the most illogical. A self aware, borderline suicidal animatronic that was mentally broken by whatever it had witnessed. He would have to keep a close eye on Springtrap, if not to protect the "merchandise" for the haunted house's grand opening, then to keep his friend safe.

"You've been quiet, Stevie," the springlock suit in question noted.

"I'm just thinking," Steven said, swiveling absentmindedly in his chair.

Ear drooping, Springtrap nervously asked, "Did I scare you last night?"

"No, not in the way you're thinking," Steven replied, stopping to properly look at the machine. With arms folded close to its chest and leaning away from him against the glass, it was clearly scared of what the human had to say. "You...worried me," Steven corrected. "Can you promise me not to do that again? Please, Mike?"

Silently Springtrap considered the night guard's words, then closed his eyes with a heavy sigh. "For Stevie," he muttered, "yes."

"Thank you," Steven breathed, eyes lingering on the animatronic's face. There was always something off about the endoskeleton inside it, its appearance reminiscent of something organic, skeletal. Until recently, he always waved it off as Springtrap's insides being rusted and falling apart, but the machine kept dropping hints that there was more than just it's metal frame and programming, that it was more than just an artificial intelligence, and then Steven recalled a piece of information gleaned from one of the training tapes.

_"After learning of an unfortunate incident...involving multiple and simultaneous spring lock failures…deemed the suits temporarily unfit for employees…"_

"Mike is the name of the body trapped inside you, isn't it?" Steven stated more than asked; his heart dropped into his stomach when Springtrap nodded in confirmation. "What...what happened?"

"It's a long story," Springtrap began, unfolding his arms to rest his palms on the cool, scratched glass. He had to stop to think for a moment; where to even begin? It took great effort to sift through all of the increasingly clear, but still hazy memories; as if he were attempting to read a book, but the pages were torn out and scattered in mud. "I was a night guard just like you at the restaurant, in 1993. I worked there for maybe a week or so, to make sure that the animatronics were my friends."

"And?"

"I was right," Springtrap rasped, voice quivering as he recalled the memory; by God, how terrible it had been he was right. "But they did not recognize me. They were too far gone, and saw me as prey. I tried to take them apart a few times to free them. The first time I got caught and was fired, but I came back after the restaurant shut down for good and was able to get them out." All of Freddy Fazbear's assets had been left to rot, including the suits holding his friends, and that hadn't sat right with him. Thus he lured them to the safe room, which he had broken into the day prior, one by one, until they were all taken apart. "But they were in so much pain that they still chased me, that time into this suit. The insides crushed me, and nobody found me…" Springtrap trailed off, shivering in disgust as he remembered his death; spasming as he bled out and the ghosts just watching him. "They wanted me to know how they felt, trapped and all alone."

"That's…that's fucking horrible," Steven replied, "You didn't deserve that. Nobody deserves that." The machine -no, Mike- released a rumble of acknowledgment, and he pulled out his pack of Newports and his lighter. Despite the shoddy ventilation system, Steven figured a time such as this called for some nicotine to calm his nerves, taking a long, eager drag off his cigarette. As he exhaled a plume of bitter smoke, Springtrap tipped his head to the side and watched closely.

"You shouldn't smoke those," he warned mirthfully, "they'll kill you."

"Yeah, yeah," Steven muttered, waving the suit off dismissively. Honestly, with the way the world was going, dying young didn't sound too bad, miss when things really went to shit. "What's your proof?"

Gesturing to his rotted carapace, Springtrap proclaimed, "I used to smoke, and look at me now."

"Mike!" The night guard exclaimed, then choked on his cigarette. He then gasped, "Too soon!"

"I've been dead for thirty years, Stevie."

Unable to control himself, Steven burst out laughing at the other. How could he not, with the surreality of this moment? A dead man from the 90's was haunting a children's mascot which wandered around the haunted house he worked at, and yet they talked like two normal people. Like Mike's vessel had not tried to kill him at first, left him brutally bruised and terrified for days, or even like Mike hadn't tried to kill himself just the night prior, no longer able to handle the mental torment he was subjected to. If Steven didn't laugh, he'd cry from how insane he was going. "You're a sick fuck, Mike," he wheezed, clutching his uniform clad chest as he wiped a tear from his eye.

"So are you," Mike countered, but the night guard could hear the warmth in the animatronic's voice. The suit's face was stuck in a permanent grin, and, combined with the half lidded, sleepy eyes, Steven no longer found the machine scary, instead he was starting to become...quite endeared by the human within it...literally. Shuddering, Steven didn't want to think too much about that detail, as Mike quite liked being in physical contact.

"Stevie," the animatronic crooned, wrapping his arms around the human's torso, "you're thinking again."

Too weak to protest, Steven resigned himself to the embrace and replied, "Just tired, buddy. My shift's almost over." The time on his phone was 5:55 AM to be exact; most people were just waking up to start their day.

"Pity," Mike pouted, squeezing tighter. "I'll miss you, Stevie," he drawled, and felt a shiver pass through the other's body. "Will you miss me?"

"Yeah, Mike," Steven groaned, struggling to breathe, "I'll miss you until tonight." Luckily he was saved by the ringing of the alarm, which alerted the machine to disentangle from him and trudge off, pathetically waving farewell from the doorway. Shaking his head in amusement, Steven gathered up his belongings and headed outside, reaching into his breast pocket for his pack of cigarettes. When his fingers met thin air and fabric, he swore loudly.

"Goddamn robot took my smokes!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Springtrap explained it pretty well; in my theory, Mike Schmidt was the fifth child who was kidnapped, but he survived (four dead children for four animatronics) and as an adult tried to save his friends. In the FNAF3 minigame where the animatronics get taken apart, it's at the FNAF1 location, and on Mike's pink slip the reason listed as to why he was fired was for tinkering with the animatronics; he was caught trying to figure out how to free the missing children's souls. At least, that's what I thought.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! I've been getting so many nice comments and I appreciate them all. So far I've been doing double uploads or multiple uploads a week, and I was wondering, do you guys want me to stick to that schedule, or do you want me to space out chapters more?


	8. Chapter 8

He came in early again that night, this time to rummage through his office for his pack of Newports. No way in Hell was he going to buy another, when he had just opened it; optimistically he hoped he'd just misplaced it. Steven's movements were frantic as he searched through each drawer of his desk over and over, scoured the floor in the dark, the lack of nicotine over the past twenty-four hours driving him mad. This was getting out of control, he thought, that animatronic couldn't keep getting touchy-feely with him just to swipe his belongings; he'd have to teach the kleptomaniac fucking manners next time Steven saw him-

"Looking for these?" Mike asked with an uncharacteristic cooless; when the night guard whipped around, all he saw was the machine's dark silhouette in the doorway holding up the stolen smokes, smug face illuminated by the tip of a lit cigarette. Chuckling as Steven stormed over grumbling to snatch his stolen lighter and cigarettes, Mike lifted his hand to take a practiced drag, saying, "Newports, huh? I was a Marlboro fan myself, although I won't complain after going thirty years without a smoke."

Pocketing the Newport pack with deft fingers, Steven snapped, "Whatever, just stop taking my things. You had shit taste, by the way," he added before going back to his chair, sighing in relief to finally have his sweet, sweet nicotine back.

Rusted jaw creaking as he opened his mouth to exhale a plume of smoke, Mike retorted, "Not everyone has baby lungs like you, Steven."

"I don't have…" the night guard trailed off as he rebooted his camera feed, stunned as he realized what the other said. "Wait, what did you call me?"

Mike tipped his head to the side. "Steven. That's your name, isn't it?"

"Yes, but…"

"You got used to the other me," Mike surmised, shaking his head as he released another cloud of smoke. Such was the benefit of his suit's design, having the ability to intake and expel air to regulate the temperature of his animatronic parts, to be able to hold onto this one human comfort. Flicking ash off the tip of his cigarette, Mike clarified, "I wasn't quite all there before, but I feel more awake now."

Cautiously watching the animatronic from his chair, Steven agreed, "You sound more lucid." He didn't mean that in a bad way; after all, the more in control Mike was, the less likely his unrestful spirit was to lash out at Steven. That also didn't mean, however, that the change in behavior didn't fill the night guard with worry, as humans were calculated, and could harm with purpose. Not wanting to imply indifference towards the animatronic's progress, Steven added, "That's good, Mike. Does that mean you're going to be like this from now on?"

Narrowing his pale eyes in thought, Mike replied, his voice extra scratchy from smoking, "I'm not sure. It's a struggle to think straight and to make sense of things...if that makes sense. Like I'm trying to hear you over white noise in my head." Scratching his head, the machine had to pause to find the right words for what he wanted to say. As his consciousness untangled, all of his thoughts, feelings, and memories remained waiting for him to decipher them, but they unfurled in opposite directions, stretching out into the void from which his soul had been, requiring most of his mental capabilities to reel them in and string them into a comprehensive train of thought. "Sometimes it's hard and I regress," Mike said regretfully, "I'm sure you've noticed."

Nodding, Steven assured, "I get it. And it's okay, you've been dead for what, a few decades? It's gonna be hard at first." His words seemed to placate his companion, as Mike left the doorway to stand closer. Somehow, he had come to genuinely care for the springlock suit, and wished there was something he could do with all his heart that would lessen the suffering of the spirit inside. "I just hope you keep getting better," Steven said softly, knowing sadly that words of kindness were all that he had to offer.

Even so, Mike still appreciated every one, letting every syllable of every sentiment wrap around his mind, tighten his consciousness as it tried to spill outwards. Regaining his cognitive capacity was a double edged sword, as while he could now rationalize and reason with others, namely Steven, Mike was now fully aware of what he was still lacking, and it was confusing, if not downright terrifying at times. Holes, while shrinking, still remained in his memory, and try as he might to try to recall what had been consumed by the void, he was only left with disappointment and fear of what traumas were still lurking beyond his reach.

He was lacking a body, too; his body, to be specific. While this vessel was sufficient enough to ambulate with, it did not belong to him, it was not the one he was born with. Mike longed for the familiar feeling of a skinvelope around himself, warm and fleshy, instead of the cold, metallic carapace he saw in his reflection. "Do you know what it's like," he asked, sizing himself up in the office window, "to look at yourself and see a body that isn't your own?" He missed his hair, dark and unruly, missed the various scars from accidents that littered his skin, missed his crooked smile that revealed yellowing teeth from his bad habit, missed all of the imperfections that made him "him".

Wordlessly opening his mouth to say "yes", Steven, hesitated as he stared at Mike's backside. As a trans man, he knew how it felt to look in a mirror and not see himself, see his body twist into something he could not recognize as himself. Except for him, his identity had been compromised by puberty, his body transformed into the wrong form, instead of spirited away. And while it had been remedied by years of expensive and exhausting hormone therapy, it did not negate the dissociation Steven had felt between who he was and his physical body for years, the many nights he spent crying because he felt trapped in the wrong body. He understood Mike's attempt to end himself, for death was the only escape from one's body.

But Steven said nothing, for this moment wasn't about him.

"I remember, working at the restaurant," Mike continued, still analyzing his rotting, rusted face, "I would see the Fredbear suit sitting in my office, like you see the phantoms. And I would think to myself, 'it's me'. It was the suit I was going to be stuffed into when I was taken with the others, and it had been waiting for me, they all had. But they put me in this one instead, go figure.

"I wanted to believe that some part of them was still there, I would tell them every time I ended my shift that I would always come back. I wasn't going to abandon them again, I was going to find a way to save them. But I think they spent too long withering that their memories withered away, too." Turning around to face the other man, Mike sighed tiredly and rubbed his eyes after tossing his used cigarette. "The way I was when we first met," he explained, "that's how they were every night I saw them, but they wouldn't get better. All they could remember was their pain, and they couldn't overcome it."

"Well, they're still here, is there a way to help them pass on?" Steven wondered out loud. The phantoms in question still lurked in the halls, on his camera feed, and that wouldn't do when Fazbear's Fright opened to the public. "This place is supposed to open soon, and it's only going to disturb them more."

Scratching his chin, Mike replied, "Hmm, I'll have to think of something. And fast...fuck, it would help if I could remember more." But in his heart, he knew that what waited for him was going to be difficult to handle; the imprints left by the lost memories filled him with fear. Perhaps some things were best left forgotten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm, where has that last line been said before?


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: child molestation
> 
> Seriously, do not read this chapter if you are easily disturbed or would be triggered. I wrote this to vent and nearly puked several times.

When Steven made Mike promise him no more incidents such as the one the other night when the animatronic was harming himself, he hadn't expected to have to deal with another breakdown so soon. Perhaps it should have been expected, now that he was aware of Mike's spirit struggling with it's new awareness and recollections, but naively Steven believed that the worst had been dealt with. What could be worse than the traumatic way the other had died, he foolishly thought, having been crushed by the animatronic's endoskeleton and trapped inside for decades? But the intensity of that painful moment had only distracted from remembering other things, until recently.

Commotion from one of the back rooms distracted Steven as he clocked into work; glancing over to his office, he debated settling in for his shift or going to investigate the noise. More din assaulted his ears, and without a second thought he ran down the corridors to find Mike. Flashbacks to their last conversation danced across his mind, how much it tormented the other to not be able to recall key moments of his past. Perhaps Mike had finally snapped under the pressure of unknowing, or perhaps what he did remember finally broke him.

Discovering the haunted machine hunched over and clutching his head, whimpering in pain for a mother's comfort, Steven somehow knew that it was the latter. "...Mike?" He murmured, but the other did not respond, opting to continue shuddering and staring into the distance. "Mike, what's wrong?" Cautiously Steven approached the springlock suit, reaching out to touch his shoulder and saying, "Mike, what hap-"

Suddenly Mike recoiled from his touch, shoving him away and snarling, "Don't fucking touch me!" Lurching upright, he knocked Steven over when reaching full height and began pacing frantically as the night guard curled up into as tiny and unnoticeable of a ball as possible. "Don't touch me, don't touch me, don't touch me!" Mike repeated, each time sounding more and more desperate. Wailing, he then began clawing at the suit's head again, saying, "Why? Why did you do this to me? You ruined my life!"

Steven watched it all unfold with abject horror, remaining as silent as possible so as not to incur the wrath of the awry animatronic. It wasn't hard to do so, having been knocked so hard into the wall on his bad side that he was left winded. When he attempted to shift positions, however, a yelp of pain escaped his lips, causing his heart to drop in his chest. Without missing a beat, Mike turned around and trudged towards him, causing his heart to then palpitate wildly, pounding against his ribs as he lifted his arms instinctively to shield his face and begging, "Mike, stop! Please, it's just me!"

Again Mike ignored him, however, lifting him up by the neck with a huge, careless hand. "I'm going to kill you, and I'm going to make it hurt," the animatronic hissed in Steven's face, squeezing the human's delicate throat tighter. As he searched the other's face, though, his silver eyes blinked as recognition bloomed in them, and in horror he dropped Steven to the ground, before crumpling up on the cement himself. "I'm so sorry," Mike sobbed, hiding his face in his hands. "I thought you were someone else, I…"

"Mike…"

"I remember his face," the machine continued, trembling so hard his rusted bolts and screws creaked. "I remember what he did to me, I-I remember who it was."

"Who, Mike?" Steven dared to ask, again reaching for the other to comfort him, who again shrunk away from him. "Who hurt you?"

"M-my father," the animatronic mumbled in a shaky voice, "he...he  _ used _ me to bait my friends into the back room, where he could hurt them...my own father! Why did he do that to me?" They had been told that the party was almost ready, that his dad just needed help retrieving the cake from the employee fridge, but instead they had been led to their doom.

"Oh my God," Steven replied, suddenly feeling sick to his stomach. "You...you didn't deserve that, your father was supposed to take care of you, not do...that."

"They blame me," Mike continued, still not directly addressing Steven, "they blame me like I was fucking in on it or something. But they don't realize I was his first victim." Now, it was the animatronic's turn to feel nauseous, dry heaving on the floor as if he still had a stomach to regurgitate from. Intrusive memories of sensations and emotions, sounds and unwanted touches bombarded him, nights as a child clutching a flashlight to his chest, looking for monsters in his room, only for one to sneak into his bed. Hands that would linger on his shoulder as he was praised for being a good boy, hands that would rest a little too close to his nether regions, hands that would hold his wrists down so he wouldn't fight back, hands that would cover his mouth if he cried too loud. "It hurt, Stevie," Mike whimpered, rocking as he held his knees, "it hurt so bad. But no matter how many times I told him to stop, he kept touching me."

It didn't take a genius to realize what the animatronic was saying, and as Steven sat there, taking it in, he was speechless. He knew he was disgusted, not by the other, no, being molested did not ruin a person; his disgust in the form of hot bile rising in his throat was directed towards the kind of man who would dare violate a child, especially their own. Rubbing his temples, Steven said, "Jesus Christ, Mike. That's so fucked up, I'm so sorry that happened to you. I hope he's rotting in Hell for what he did, none of this was your fault. What...what can I do to help?"

Pondering the night guard's words, Mike slowed his rocking to a stop and sniffled. Right now, what he needed was a distraction from the dark thoughts; even inside his metal carapace, with his skin rotted away, he could still feel his father's hands all over his body, and all he wanted to do in that moment was rip off every layer of the suit until all that remained was his skeletal corpse. He then glanced down at Steven's hands as they rested in the human's lap, so small and delicate. They were not made for taking things, they waited, curled up, for permission. Steven never hurt Mike with his hands, using them only to express kindness; the animatronic's only desire in that moment was to think about Steven's hands, not his father's.

Hesitantly, Mike grabbed the human's soft, tan hand, running his thumb over sparse hairs in awe. He felt the other's dark eyes watching him carefully as he inspected each dainty digit, then clumsily intertwined their fingers and pulled Steven into his lap. "I want...you to stay with me," he rasped sheepishly, holding the human's hand against where his heart would have been.

"Okay," Steven meekly replied, nodding as he made himself more comfortable. "I can do that." Tenderly he stroked Mike's still shivering shoulders, not missing the way the machine flinched before leaning into his touch. "Hey, it's okay," he reassured, still stroking the other comfortingly. "I'm not going anywhere. You're safe, I promise."

As his breathing calmed down, Mike eventually muttered, "He did get caught for what he did."

"Thank God," Steve breathed; the other continued,

"When I escaped from the back room, I tried to look for help, but my older brother and his friends tried to play a prank on me," he growled. "But it went wrong, an animatronic bit my head and I had to go to the hospital. I was in a coma for several days, so I was reported missing with the four others until I woke up and told them who I was...what happened. Then they arrested my father, based on the...evidence they gathered." In part his statement to the police when they interviewed him, but they were only called by the doctors in the first place after bruising and rectal trauma had been noticed, and a rape kit had been run. Shuddering at the memory, Mike dejectedly said, "I feel disgusting."

"You're not disgusting," Steven replied, becoming choked up. He wanted to say more, but a lump was forming at the back of his throat, and he had to blink away wetness from the corner of his eye. Damn it, he shouldn't have been the one tearing up, he wasn't the one who had been abused.

Mike pointed it out, tipping his head to the side and asking with a voice filled with concern, "Why are you crying?"

Letting out a choked, bitter laugh, Steven shook his head and said, "You just never got a break in your life, did you?" Cupping Mike's cheeks in his palms, he searched the other's pale eyes, then continued, "You had so many terrible things happen to you, and you didn't deserve any of it. I hope you know that. You were just a kid, Mike, it shouldn't have been your responsibility to deal with all this." With a sigh, the animatronic closed his eyes and rested their foreheads together, and Steven sniffled and wiped his eyes. "I wish that I could have been there to help you, so you didn't have to deal with this alone," he said softly, defeatedly.

"You're here now," Mike rumbled, half lidded eyes glowing with delight, "and that's good enough."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congratulations if you made it this far, I know this wasn't an easy chapter to read. Now for some notes from my original theory to explain the plot...
> 
> Mike is the crying child, who was the fifth child taken by William Afton into the back room. But he was not murdered; when the Puppet gives gifts and gives life in FNAF2, she is able to do so for the four others, but the minigame is interrupted by a Golden Freddy jumpscare when she goes to the fifth child. And in FNAF3, the Puppet gives a cake to a crying child who then puts on a Golden Freddy mask in one of the minigames required to get the good ending, symbolizing in my mind that the Puppet was unable to give this "gift" beforehand.
> 
> In FNAF6, a minigame reveals that William Afton is the father of the crying child. Child serial killers are often violent pedophiles, and their first victims are often the children closest to them (in the canon I believe William's first victim was the daughter of his business partner). Their own children, even. That's my excuse for writing this, at least. The nightmare animatronics the crying child saw in FNAF4 were his child mind trying to make sense of what his father was doing to him, as well as his trauma being melded with his fear of the animatronics from his brother's bullying.
> 
> As for why Mike turned on Steven, it's established in FNAF2 that the animatronics are hostile to all night guards because William was a night guard. They were programmed to stop criminals and they either witnessed or were aware of his crimes. When Mike saw Steven's uniform, he was on autopilot and became aggressive until he recognized Steven's face.
> 
> This chapter is dedicated to my beta reader and good friend who has been there for me and supported me through every breakdown I've had. He's my Steven and you have him to thank for having content to read. Please don't take the Stevens in your life for granted.


End file.
